


The Sound of an Amorous Stranger

by Miraphina Atherton (mew_tsubaki)



Series: Stranger [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Minor Violence, Older Characters, returns to this universe 8yrs later like wow, so this ending happened XD, that violence is p much just on their dinners lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 21:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20713103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mew_tsubaki/pseuds/Miraphina%20Atherton
Summary: Fenrir's worst fear is coming true: He's feeling human again. Thanks a lot, Eloise.





	The Sound of an Amorous Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> The Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not to me. Read, review, and enjoy! *Note: This is a sequel to the second Elfen oneshot, "The Sound of a Distant Stranger." I strongly suggest you read that before this, especially if you like something fairly action-packed at the end! ;)

"The fish is ready."

Fenrir Greyback took the spear of fish—trout, salmon, whatever it was, he didn't care as long as it was meat—from the witch and tore into it with his teeth. No matter her trying to teach him manners, Fenrir would always insist on using his fangs and claws in lieu of utensils.

The witch in question was one Eloise Midgen. A little taller than the average woman but still short to Fenrir, a pile of dark brown hair that managed to stay healthy despite them roughing it, brown eyes that could read his mind, and a somewhat pretty face scored with pock marks from what Eloise insisted had been the worst case of teenage acne the world had ever seen. Fenrir thought she looked all right, though; what he loved was her cooking and—though he'd never admit it—he loved that she treated him as a fellow human being.

Which, of course, was just not right. Being a werewolf was so much better than being a wizard.

Eloise gave him a curious look, and Fenrir realized he must've been staring as he sized her up.

"What?" he snapped.

"Nothing. Is it good?"

"Fine."

Eloise smiled very subtly, and Fenrir before would've missed the expression almost entirely. These days…these days he managed to find the time to spare her the extra attention, even if he didn't want her to know. That was why he knew she smiled now in response to him, the way her ears twitched upward and she turned her face from him and went too quiet for a beat.

Well, a part of him appreciated that she kept her chuckles to herself. Fenrir was not the type to share in a chuckle.

And, following that thought, he forced himself to tear his eyes away and do another quick scan of their surroundings. Eloise still didn't understand what it was like to live wild, not yet, so Fenrir needed to keep his focus for the both of them.

"We should move tonight," he stated, breaking the silence that had been filled with only the crackling of their campfire.

Eloise frowned, borderline pouted. She was getting more obstinate these days, and he'd mostly chocked that up to them having been on the run for nearly three months. It was late spring now, and they'd left Scotland when there'd still been snow on the ground. "…again?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, again."

"Fenrir, we moved here just last week. It—" She hesitated. After a moment, she even bit her lower lip and picked at her own fish.

"What?" He glared at her.

Eloise picked up her eyes and continued, "We're south of my old cottage… Maybe two days' walk from there…?"

But he shook his head. "Can't afford to return there."

"I highly doubt they'd connect me to that werewolf's death…"

That doubt of hers put him on edge. She'd done well listening to him so far, because he had experience she lacked. But that doubt of hers always—what was that feeling? Sent him into a panic? How strange, to feel the itch of fear when he thought something could happen to Eloise. "Just because I killed him while you only wiped his memory doesn't mean the Ministry would go lightly on you."

They both paused and shared a look, and he wanted to growl at the grin she couldn't tamp down this time. That was probably the longest sentence he'd said in decades. His acting like a human really was all Eloise's fault.

They dropped the topic as they ate dinner and watched the sun set. Being constantly on the move didn't feel so threatening when they got to do things like this, and Fenrir often found himself sharing with her some of the things he enjoyed when running free.

All that time had been spent alone, though, and he painfully acknowledged only to himself that having Eloise around improved some aspects of his life. He certainly ate better these days and ate more regularly (again, making him human—good grief, woman!).

Then again, he mused as Eloise disappeared into her tent to change for bed, he wasn't certain he slept much better with her around. Of course, once a month he didn't sleep, for he'd be shifted and at least three leagues away to ensure she'd come to no harm from him. But most nights, regular nights, found him feeling antsy, possibly fretting for her ridiculously fragile life, and tonight was no different. Fenrir watched and waited for Eloise to fall asleep with him in her arms…and then he carefully pried her hands off him and left to patrol outside her tent.

There, outside, from evening to twilight to dawn, Fenrir paced, enjoying that the many transformations in his lifetime had made walking on two legs come to feel as fluid as the balance of prowling on four gave him. Only for that last hour before Eloise awoke did he allow himself rest, and he would return to their bed and place Eloise's arms around him once more, for his comfort and peace of mind as well as to keep Eloise none the wiser.

This life was not the one Eloise had had growing up. This was not a life to which she was accustomed. But, despite her gripes, she was keeping up rather well.

This life was theirs, and they'd done well to hold on to it so far. And that was the peaceful thought that always allowed Fenrir to drift off for a bit of shuteye.

* * *

Fenrir gave Eloise another night to be nostalgic for her old home before they broke camp and headed southeast, deep into England and hugging the coast until they reached Dover on the edge closest to the rest of mainland Europe. There, they crossed the water and made for Calais, but Fenrir had no plans for them to stay in France. Belgium would be a safer bet, much less conspicuous for a monster who'd kept his hunting grounds mostly contained to his home. The Ministry always had their suspicions about France, but none of the Aurors on his tail had ever stopped to ask Fenrir whether he enjoyed the stench he believed clung to the country.

They'd popped around the United Kingdom and ventured into Ireland once since going on the lam months ago, but a truly foreign country would be new for Eloise. He prepared himself for new complaints.

"I've never been to Belgium," she remarked as they left the beach and traipsed to the forest edge in the distance. Even from here, it looked sparse, but it would have to do at least for tonight.

"I have. Twice," he elaborated when she raised her eyebrows. He ignored the look she shot him when he didn't continue, but some parts of his past weren't meant for the history books nor for Eloise's knowledge.

"I don't know the language," Eloise announced.

"Neither do I."

"I'm not worried, though." She patted the nondescript bag that hung across her chest on an alarmingly flimsy-looking strap. "I'm sure I've got a text somewhere so I can study up on the proper Translation Charms. If it goes well with me, I could cast one on you, too?"

Fenrir paused their trek and towered over her.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Big Bad Wolf doesn't need such a thing because he doesn't need to talk to anyone." She tugged playfully on his chin and patted his cheek. "Lucky for you, I find your silence charming," she added as she pushed on ahead past him.

He stared at the back of her head for half a step before picking up the pace. Some days, he didn't care to decipher the things she said and did. Other days, he could deliberate himself into a tizzy, trying to figure her out. Was she not scared of him anymore?! That woman…!

The forest proper was, in fact, as sparse as it seemed, but it was quiet and untouched by the locals—they'd probably decided nothing was more suitable than the actual beachfront. The land here was lusher, more vibrant than Fenrir remembered…or perhaps he'd been surrounded by the dreary palette of home for too long.

He sniffed around and marked a perimeter with claw marks he made on the bark of trees chosen with a jagged design in mind. Once satisfied, he returned to the canopied clearing where he'd left Eloise to construct her tent. She already had it set up and was working on their fire.

As the last stone and twig floated into place with her careful wandwork, Eloise sighed.

Fenrir furrowed his brow. "What's wrong _now_?"

"What?" Eloise jolted at the sound of his voice. "Nothing's wrong, Fenrir."

"You sighed."

Her expression softened, clearly morphing from shock to happiness. "A sigh isn't always indicative of something bad, luv. I…I thought I'd be content with this life."

Oh, hell. This didn't sound good.

"Actually, I'm quite happy. Happy enough that I'm to the point of having hopes for us. Dreams," she added. She made the kindling burst into flame, and then she pocketed her wand and reached for him, diving into his arms when he was near enough.

Fenrir dumbly moved his arms around her, resting his hands on her back. "Dreams," he echoed.

Eloise smiled into his chest; while her smile was, at times, an irritating sight, Fenrir always enjoyed the way her lips brushed his chest when she smiled against him. "We could travel the entire would this way, you know."

"Be wanted in every nation? Never tried it."

She pinched his backside in reprimand. "No, Fenrir. Really travel. Experience all the land there is to experience."

He grimaced—good thing she wasn't staring at him right now. Such a thought had never crossed his mind. Maybe pillage across the world? That was closer. But he hadn't had such thoughts in a long time. Either way… "How optimistic," Fenrir retorted.

Eloise sighed—yet again, he wasn't sure why—and squeezed him before pulling away and stoking the fire. "Then let's switch to being realistic and think about supper. Do you want to go fishing when it gets dark? Or shall we see what birds and woodland creatures the trees hold for us?"

Fenrir didn't detect any bitterness in her tone, and he admired that. He wondered briefly if he'd ever had hopes and dreams, too; if he had, he couldn't recall. That aside…

He tried to picture Eloise's imaginings. It was easy enough to place her in front of any backdrop and have her look like a happy tourist who was there to soak up brand-new experiences and magic. But then he tried adding himself into the picture, and at the very best he was some shadow lurking behind her everywhere she went. At worst, he'd do something that would put her in danger or would catch the local Ministry's eye. Regardless, he was left feeling very frustrated.

Fenrir growled softly under his breath, frustrated with both himself and his sordid imagination. He went to Eloise and drew her back to him, breathing easy again when he could wrap his arms around her waist and bury his face in her hair.

Eloise chuckled. "All right there, Fenrir?"

He went to growl at her for disrupting the moment—and stopped.

"Fenrir?"

He sniffed her hair. "…you smell…"

She glared at him. "No, I don't."

"…different."

"Oh." Eloise toyed with a lock of her hair. "Do I? But you told me ages ago to toss the fragrant soaps and shampoos I had. I came up with something neutral, because I _do_ need to bathe at least every other day." She stared up at him as if to add, "So do you."

But he ignored that. Even cocking his head and putting his nose by her ear, sniffing his way to her jaw and neck, Fenrir couldn't quite put his finger on the scent, nor the way in which it was different. Simply that it was. "It's not the cleanliness."

She reddened. "Oh, Merlin…! Fenrir, I _told_ you to stop telling me when my cycle's coming before even _I_ know…!"

He grunted. It made no sense for her to get all huffy over that still. "And I know _that_ scent, but it's not that, either, daft woman."

Eloise blinked up at him and bit her lip. "That's strange," she conceded.

Though it was new and odd, Fenrir nuzzled her ear. "It's not bad."

"'Not bad'? Nice to know I have a fan." She indulged him with a kiss and pulled away again. "I'm still fairly certain I don't smell, and we still need food, Fenrir. Get to it quickly, and I'll see if I can't make something special of it, all right?"

Reluctantly, Fenrir slipped into the darkening shadows of their new stomping grounds. Free to be his beastly self, he encountered a doe early on and took his time savaging the frightened creature.

But, well-bloodied and returning to his senses as he came back with his spoils, his human side felt…_soft_ as he picked up Eloise's new scent for the second time. He hated it when she was prickly, so he said nothing of it as they ate, she studied her old schoolbook, they watched the stars pop out, and she went to sleep beside him, leaving Fenrir to gather her up in his arms and carry her to bed before he made his rounds.

* * *

"You're fussing a lot with that zipper," he quipped.

Eloise snapped her head at him. If looks could kill, she'd be a Dark witch for certain. "I'm _not_," she spat.

Fenrir shrugged. "Does it really matter how your trousers look? Your legs are well-muscled, good for running. And your thighs each fit well in my hands. Plus they wrap nice and tight around me." He said the last part with a smirk, expecting some embarrassment. It was entertaining to make her face flush red.

She didn't rise to the bait, however. Instead, she poked at her stomach, which spilled over a bit where she was attempting to zip and button her denims. "Dammit, Fenrir. It's not funny."

He huffed, as if to say, "Didn't say it was."

"I've been wearing these denims for ages. I mean, sure, they've been feeling tight the last couple weeks, but!" Eloise threw her hands up. "Now they won't fit _at all_!"

Fenrir disagreed and demonstrated as much with a reassuring hand on her backside, cupping her rear. "…shrinkage?" he suggested. She laundered their things every few weeks or every other week as needed, or immediately as with the case of his exuberant and successful hunts; it was one of his early concessions to keep her happy.

"No." Now her face turned red, but her eyes grew wet, as well.

Fuck.

Eloise exhaled and stared at one of the tent poles, the one at the foot of their bed. "I've probably just not been getting enough exercise."

He quirked an eyebrow. They'd done much of their movement on foot. Apparating everywhere was too conspicuous, plus one never knew what laws were changing where, especially when border-hopping.

She laughed at herself and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. "That, or we've been eating really, _really_ well."

"Sick of venison?"

"After a week and a half, maybe. But it's a lean meat, Fenrir."

He was about to say "Even lean meat is fattening if you eat enough of it," but he kept his mouth shut as Eloise removed her denims and held them up to fiddle with them magically. By now, he knew it best not to bother her when she was this grumpy.

After some time alone and before the morning was gone, he did coax her from the tent and had her walk the perimeter with him. The work kept their concentration from wandering, and he encouraged her to practice more of her defensive and proactive spells the way she'd done at some of their early campsites. Eloise let off steam this way, and she was closer to her happier self by the time it was well and full day. Walking back to the tent, she even mumbled a tiny "thank you" to him.

"No need," he replied. "Some meat on your bones is fine. Besides, I care more about the taste of you directly below—"

"_FENRIR_!"

* * *

Spring was fading fast. They dawdled a while longer in that tiny excuse for a forest in Belgium for several more days, because Eloise kept changing her mind and mood. Did she want to leave? Did she feel up for leaving? No, the sight was beautiful here. No, she had no energy to do much today. …yes, she wanted to run away to society and eat something processed for the first time in a while.

Fenrir couldn't fathom what ran through her brain. She would be grumpy one second and sad the next, complaining about her weighing him down. He assured her he wouldn't be caught, and he didn't add that she wasn't a trouble to throw over his shoulder if they needed to escape quickly. Although he wondered how much longer the latter would be true as she began to fill out her curves.

At least he'd learned his lesson and didn't comment on the weight gain. A few times, when she wasn't in a bad mood but was weepy, she hauled out an old photo album. She'd blather on about her old schoolmates (oh, how his blood boiled when he caught a glimpse of Potter in the background—or worse, that Granger girl), but he made a game of it, finding young Eloise in each photograph. Young Eloise was fat and not very happy, but he enjoyed himself in spotting her everywhere before she could even point.

"How on Earth can you recognize me so quickly?" she asked, agape.

But Fenrir replied with his wolfish grin. It would be too human of him to admit that of course he knew his mate well and would recognize her anywhere, even if he hadn't marked his territory.

Eloise rolled her eyes, not pushing further. "Well, at least now you know what you're in for if this keeps up," she said, putting the album in the small dresser staged by her side of the bed. She returned outside to join him by the fire again, and she leaned back into him as he reclined against some gnarled tree roots that had pushed through the soil.

"It's not a bad thing."

"_How_ is this not a bad thing?"

"You smell delicious," he answered. To emphasize his point, the arm slung over her shoulder stretched so his fingers could tease the skin beneath her shirt, and the hand resting at her hip thumbed her troubling waistband.

His obvious maneuvers made her laugh. "Of course your mind is in the gutter…!" But that wasn't a "no," and she turned so she could kiss him, deeply, and so he might have better access for wherever his paws might want to go.

* * *

Nights filled with sex were dangerous, because he always fell asleep too soundly when they were spent. At the same time, they were nights when he could catch up on sleep, and he loved that layer of personal grime as sweat clung to them while it dried—his, hers, his on her, hers on him. This was how he was supposed to live. This was how he preferred to live.

On such a night, he would reverse his routine, and that last hour before Eloise woke he would spend checking the wards she'd set up to keep them safe, alert, and hidden. The only thing amiss right now, this morning when he got back to the tent, was that her scent had a wider range, and he could pick it up well before he was back.

Odd.

The closer he got to the tent, the stronger that scent…and it finally hit him.

He'd never smelled it before on Eloise.

But he knew it. It'd taken him a while to place it, but he knew it.

And something else was missing.

Eloise was letting out yet another pair of trousers yet again when he dashed to her side, and she yelped in surprise. The denims fell to the ground, and she clutched her chest. "_Holy Helga_, Fenrir! Don't do that to—"

"You're. Pregnant."

The two words were water splashed on the fire of their everyday life. Eloise paled and stared at him with a strange-looking smile that didn't feel like a smile to him. "…come again?"

"You've missed it, haven't you?"

Eloise was quick to understand. "Oh, my Merlin… But—I thought it was the stress of everything. I mean—" She nearly dropped her wand in the morning fire that had yet to cook breakfast; Fenrir dove to catch it and promptly tucked it into her skirt's waistband. "That was a life-or-death situation, Fenrir! And then being on the run and checking local news to make sure no one was catching wind of us—" She covered her mouth with her hand.

Fenrir caught her before she fell to her knees, and he led her to the roots where they'd been lounging these weeks in Belgium.

"But—" she started. The rest of her words failed her.

"That metallic scent of yours hasn't been around for a while." He left it at that. He didn't want to voice aloud that he should've realized this sooner. He didn't want to admit that he'd been enjoying how comfy things had been lately, even with the very real threat of Azkaban awaiting them.

Eloise shook her head, who the hell knew why, and clutched his arm, stared at him. "Is—is that really…?"

He frowned. Some things he kept from Eloise. Other things he shared, even if he didn't want to, because someone like Eloise, who treated him like an equal, deserved at least that. And this was one of those other things: "…I know this scent."

She sagged in his arms.

"I didn't place it before now, because it's been a…a long time." He grimaced and dropped his eyes to where he held her hands in her lap. Looking her in the eye when telling her certain details hadn't gotten easier since that first time, when he'd returned to her cottage with a _Prophet_ and made sure she recognized his wanted poster in the paper.

"Tell me."

Fenrir ran his tongue over his teeth, mulling over the right words. "I've tried. To be part of a pack before." He paused to let her guess whether he meant simply joining one or starting one. "It's never worked, though," he continued. "But I've been around other wolves enough to recognize the hormones."

"Then why…?"

"Didn't I figure it out sooner? It's been ages since I was last around wolves, Eloise."

"Oh." She nodded, but it was a strictly mechanical motion.

Fenrir gritted his teeth. He'd seen Eloise like this before, but he was always unsure how to handle her. Gently was his default setting for this, so he stayed put but kept her hands in his, and he risked stroking the backs of her hands with the pads of his thumbs.

Without warning, Eloise got to her feet, yanking her hands from his grip in the process, and she clambered for the tent. "I'm sorry, I just—" she threw over her shoulder.

But, whatever her thought was, he wouldn't know. She didn't finish it before disappearing into the tent for the rest of the day and night.

* * *

While Eloise holed up in the tent, Fenrir prowled their territory. He thought it a bad idea to enter right now without her explicit permission, a new sensation for him but likely a wise one.

He whiled away the time by frightening the birds and catching medium-sized rodents to be cooked up as appetizers if that damned witch ever emerged from the tent.

But, after the sixth squirrel's neck he'd wrung just to hear the dainty cracks of their heads snapping off their spines, Fenrir doubted she'd be out anytime soon. And he doubted he'd be granted entry, either.

He dozed on and off, a light sleep, in front of the tent flaps. A few times, he caught the sound of rustling paper from inside. But whenever he wanted to risk popping his head in, he'd hear her sobbing. Ugh. He couldn't handle crying unless he'd caused it…

…except in this case.

His stomach growled the following morning, but he didn't hunt on the fly. Eloise's recipes were tastier than raw meat, he found, and his belly stayed full longer when eating her cooking. But as her cooking wasn't an option at this time, he scrounged around until he found a wild berry bush. The first nip didn't taste wrong but sweet, and he felt fine as he ate several handfuls.

Back at the tent, he knelt and dumped on the ground a bunch he'd gathered in his pockets. It wasn't much of a peace offering, but she knew he had trouble saying that dastardly word…"sorry."

Suddenly the right flap flew open, and Eloise stepped in the middle of his squishy gift. "OH! Fenrir, I'm so so—" She frowned and lifted up her foot.

Internally, Fenrir groaned, but he didn't let that show on his face. He looked up at her and studied her face, pock marks and puffiness and all. He stood, hating that she looked ready to cry at the drop of a wand. "Eloise…"

Her hackles went up, but she visibly forced her shoulders down. "Um. G'morning."

He reached for her chin and tilted her head up. Her cheeks were round and healthy, but there were dark circles under her eyes. "You didn't sleep." It wasn't a question.

"…no," she confirmed.

He dropped his hand, but he held her gaze.

"I was up all night, reading." She laughed, but it was a hollow sound, a dark sound. "Good grief, your schoolbooks don't prepare you for this kind of thing."

"What were you looking for?"

"Anything at all, frankly." Eloise exhaled, not quite a sigh, but sad nevertheless. Her shoulders sagged; she looked so small when that happened, and he hated seeing his witch be anything but her bullish self. "You know what's so funny? I can't find anywhere if Apparition and Disapparition are safe when pregnant."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"It's not just me I'm worrying about, Fenrir."

"But it's a part of you until it's out."

She blinked and bit back a smile followed by a laugh. "'Until it's out'? Oh, luv." At last she cracked a smile, and the sun felt warm in a way yesterday's campfire hadn't. "You really have no bedside manner."

He snarled at her. "So?"

She leaned against him. "I wouldn't have it any other way." She hugged him and mumbled into his chest, "Come sit with me?"

Fenrir obliged, so he followed her inside and sat down on the bed when she patted the empty spot beside her.

"There's so much I don't know." Eloise pulled her hair free of its clip and ran her hand through it; her hand shook the entire time. "It's not even just how to raise a child…in this lifestyle, Fenrir." She furrowed her brow. "I'm frightened I might not carry to term."

He stared at her.

"It's not my age I'm worried about. We don't have the same worries Muggles do, but…" Her cheeks burned red.

"Can't have cubs?" he guessed randomly.

Her eyes widened. "Yes! What do you know? You, erm, never really share those kinds of details with me, so…"

That was because he didn't want to Turn her or get her interested in the idea. "You'll be fine. So will it, because I've never been Turned when we fuck. The kid won't be a wolf."

She gave him a dry look complete with her lips flattened into a straight line, but eventually she loosed a breath.

"A born wolf requires both parents to be shifted during conception," he added.

Eloise winced. "And, on that note which has put an image I _really_ didn't need in my head, you'll need to excuse me." She stood.

"What for?!" Hadn't they been getting along again?!

"To vomit! It's called morning sickness, you arse!" And she dashed out of the tent. Outside, the sound of skittish critters was disrupted by Eloise emptying the scant contents of her stomach.

Fenrir grumbled to himself. Might as well see if she needed help….

* * *

As it turned out, they both needed all the help they could get.

The weeks dragged on, and they slowly made their way north, with Fenrir sniffing around local dwellings, villages, and towns, trying to find any Wizarding household that might have the proper reading material Eloise kept bitching about. They'd lucked out twice, once with a house with advanced spell books from before even Fenrir had been born and a second time with a cottage owned by a young expecting couple. Fenrir figured both families could afford to buy replacements, and he filched a large cookbook from the young couple, as well. He remembered the way Eloise had seemed most at home in her kitchen, a place where she used little actual magic but made magic of her own.

…damn. He was feeling nostalgic now, too. She'd rubbed off on him.

"These are excellent," Eloise commented as she skimmed the pages of the magic books when they stopped to set up camp. She flicked her wand a tad more readily these days, both for the setup as well as for the wards, and no wonder: She'd grown very round as summer pursued them, and she was not as critical about being sedentary.

Pleased with her praise, he revealed the cookbook he'd stolen.

She glared at him. "Fenrir! Ooh…!" But, just as fast as she'd snapped at him, she deflated and scrutinized the table of contents. "Well…I suppose it'd be far riskier trying to return it." She narrowed her eyes at him. "…and thank you for thinking of me."

He turned before she could catch his triumphant smirk.

But those were the highlights. Weeks piled up to become months, and months loomed over them like the threat of Aurors if they ever set foot in London again in their lifetimes.

Not for the first time, Eloise turned quiet as they ate a healthy dinner—a whole chicken for each of them along with a potato and a whole carrot for her from the farm half a day's walk away (or an hour's bound for him). It was August now, based on the Moons he counted and the days she scratched off on a Weird Sisters calendar she'd stuck to one of the inside walls of the tent.

"Fenrir…"

His teeth sank into the roast chicken leg, snapping the bone. She didn't even flinch at such sounds anymore.

"Fenrir, we have to have this talk."

"We don't," he said with a full mouth. "You'll be fine."

She groaned, but she'd come to understand him in spite of his lack of table manners. "Yes, we do." She put the metal plate of food down on the ground by her feet. "You have to promise me—"

He chewed and stared straight ahead at a boulder. They were in rockier terrain, so currently they were surrounded by various shades of gray.

"Fenrir, please look at me." Eloise touched his hand and waited for his gaze to stroll left. "I really mean it, you know."

He snarled.

"You _have_ to promise me."

"I don't."

"You must!" She squeezed his hand, enough to cause him some semblance of pain. "Promise me that you will Turn me if it seems I'll die."

…damn it.

"Promise me, Fenrir."

He'd never explicitly stated it, but he had a feeling she knew. The last thing he'd do was Turn her.

"Whether this child dies or lives, I can't bear the thought of leaving you by yourself."

…she hadn't said _that_ before. Perhaps she'd been waiting to play that card.

He closed his eyes and flipped his hand to entwine their fingers, pressing his into her hand, and he sensed her relief through their touch.

But her hope was all it was: hope. Fenrir couldn't make that promise officially, but he knew well enough not to point that out.

* * *

"It's good to be surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells," Eloise thought aloud as they set foot in southern Scotland.

Fenrir didn't comment, instead choosing to focus on watching where she stepped as they retraced their steps from near the start of the year.

"It'll be Halloween soon," she reminded him with a smile. She hummed to herself a tune stuck in her head these first few weeks in October. Eloise said it was an old school song. "The only place to be is home, wouldn't you say?"

"I've been home all along," he remarked casually. It took him a moment and seeing her jolly expression to realize how mawkish he'd been, implying home was wherever she was. He glowered at her. "Shut up."

"I said nothing." But she chuckled anyway.

"We should be fine so long as we don't actually set up where we've been before," he said while they crested a low hill.

"I know, I know. I trust your experience and instincts, luv, honest." She rubbed her belly and lingered a moment, taking in the Scottish autumn sky, breathing in deeply. "I've been reading all I can, so…I feel somewhat confident that I've got a handle on this."

Four nights later and three days further north, Eloise screamed for Fenrir, who came running from his patrol to throw open the tent.

"_I'm not sure I can do this on my own_!" she hollered. She was drenched with sweat despite the chill outside, and the sheets and bedding were soaked with more than just that.

Fenrir blanched. He didn't know anything. Yes, she'd forced him to read some of the material (or try—he hadn't read anything more than a _Prophet_ clipping in decades), but that didn't mean he'd absorbed much of it!

Eloise cried out again—

—and Fenrir ran.

No matter how far he got, her screams echoed in his ears, and they only pushed him further. His—his _panic_, he admitted, kept him going, and he sped up, hitting village after village, trying to find someone who might help his Eloise.

He lost track of the houses, of the roads, of the villages until he came upon a thin dwelling with a bicycle by the door. The occupant caught his eye through the window, and he stopped to see the portly woman washing her hands before heading to where her late dinner awaited on her dining room table.

He wanted to break the door down and steal her right there. But the conscience he'd developed over the past nearly two years chided him in Eloise's voice, reminding him not to make trouble he couldn't humanely clean up. So he pounded on the door and snapped at the woman who answered, "You! Deliver children?"

The woman turned sheet white and stared at him. Thankfully, she was too terrified to scream and draw attention.

"Answer me!"

She was tinier up close. But finally she nodded. "I-I-I'm—I'm the only midwife b-between these t-two towns, I—"

He growled. "My wife is in labor." The next words tasted bitter. "I need your help."

"S-Sir, I've only my bike, and—"

Again, he forced his words out: "If you can get on my back and hold on, we won't have any problems."

She yipped but did as told after grabbing an absurdly large black leather bag. That damn well better have everything she needed, otherwise he'd kill her when they stopped, because the damn thing kept hitting him in the face and chest, nearly winding him.

Fatigue gnawed at him. His legs fought him, but their cries fell on deaf ears as he leaned into his other personality, borrowed from his wolf side, a side that had become less a part of him this past year, more a distinct entity, separate from his own person. Ever so slightly, his vision sharpened, his line of sight widened, and his breaths deepened, became more regularly paced as he raced back to Eloise.

Finally at the tent, Fenrir screeched to a halt and placed the midwife on her own two shaky legs. For a second, he thought her heart had stopped and she wasn't breathing and goddammit if he had to go fetch another bloody—

The midwife sucked in a long breath to steady herself, and she didn't flinch when Eloise screamed. She marched right inside the tent, all business.

Fenrir followed her inside, but she kept him a small distance from Eloise. She waved him back outside as she pulled on a dressing robe and pulled towels and various tools from her bag.

"Off with you! Find me a bucket and fill it with clean water, and don't come back without it," she barked at him.

He growled at her but did so, snatching Eloise's bag and wand when the Muggle had her back turned.

Outside, he reached his whole left arm in the bag and felt around. Something fell over, no clue what, but he had no luck. He scratched his head, not recalling any spell to conjure a bucket out of thin air. Nevertheless, he pointed Eloise's wand at the bag and a) hoped the wand would behave for him and b) hoped his years of not using magic hadn't killed his powers.

"_Accio_ bucket!"

He swiveled his head just in time for a metal pail to come flying out, almost decapitating him. Then he pocketed the bag and pointed at the empty bucket.

"Aga…Aqua…" Shit, what was it? "_Aguamenti_."

Water sprung forth from the bucket's inner walls, filling the container in seconds. Fenrir heaved it up and returned inside the tent.

Eloise was propped up on pillows and cloaks bundled into piles. Between her legs, the midwife gave instructions, telling her to push, reminding her to breathe, ordering her to scream the pain out instead of clenching her teeth because she could break a tooth that way.

Her cries after some time had an echo, and Eloise shared in the midwife's laugh as she wrapped up a tiny, wrinkly thing in what seemed to be a foil blanket.

"Ah, there we are, Mum and Dad," the midwife said. "A beautiful boy! One down, one to go, as they say."

Eloise and Fenrir exchanged a look and each did a double-take. "I'm sorry?" Eloise asked. Her voice was unusually raspy from all the screams.

The midwife pushed the newborn into Fenrir's arms. "Yes, ma'am. You're having twins, dear."

Fenrir stood there dumbly, the infant held aloft in his open hands like an offering to Eloise, as she groaned and let another wave of pain hit her. The tent filled with instructions, screams, and first cries of life, and Fenrir was overcome with just how much noise there was.

What felt like one long blink later, the midwife passed Eloise an infant girl, and she smiled as she finished tending to Eloise's other needs.

Again, Fenrir and Eloise exchanged a look. Not one, but _two_.

Two looks.

Between the two of them.

And two babies.

What. The hell.

Eloise was much more the natural at this than Fenrir, and she cuddled both twins as the midwife cleaned her up and checked her vitals, insisting Eloise would be fine but needed to take it easy and stay put for the next several days and rest for the next several weeks while her body recovered. She also cleaned the twins and looked them over, swaddling them with cloth pieces Eloise passed her and which Fenrir recognized were made from an old violet top she'd had that no longer fit.

Sunlight snaked its way in around the flaps of the tent, and Eloise breathed much more easily as the midwife fussed about small details and began to gather her things. "I've left my mobile at home, but if your husband could help me back, I'll see to it that we get you a proper ride to hospital, how does that sound?" she asked Eloise.

Eloise jerked her head, motioning for Fenrir to come closer, and she passed him the twins. Then she plucked her wand from his cloak pocket. "Thank you for everything you've done," she told the midwife calmly, and she aimed her wand at the older woman. A warm, bright white light filled the room, so Fenrir turned away with the infants. He only turned back when Eloise muttered something else and the midwife dropped to the floor.

"Didn't think you had it in you," he appraised as he passed their boy back to her. Fenrir took a step towards the unconscious Muggle and nudged her leg with the toe of his shoe.

"Stop that! And I didn't _murder_ her," Eloise said, whispering "murder" as if children an hour or two old could understand her. "I simply erased her memories of the evening and put her to sleep. You need to return her home safe and sound before she wakes, luv."

Fenrir huffed.

Eloise smiled. She kissed the top of their son's head as well as their daughter's when Fenrir came closer. She touched his arm and waited for him to stoop so she could kiss him, too. "We're not going anywhere, luv. Come back soon, all right?"

He handed the girl over and turned to the midwife. At least she'd done the packing, so he only had to arrange her on his back in such a way so he could take her and her damn bag back in one piece. He couldn't move as quickly since she wasn't awake to hold on, but he did manage to leave her outside her home where he found her, just as Eloise asked.

It was full morning when he returning to Eloise's side. He never would've guessed she'd just gone through an ordeal based on the bright smile on her face when she saw him. She seemed so peaceful there, a child in the crook of either arm, the three of them resting…

And his mind kept circling back to that.

The three of them.

Before, it'd been two—just him and Eloise, on the run.

Now he had three, not one, to care for.

And his mind ran that triangle in circles, over and over and over again.

* * *

They stayed put for two weeks until Eloise felt better and both of them knew what to do with newborns. Reading books meant nothing until one had to put the knowledge into practice. And Fenrir was especially nervous since they'd had interaction with an outside source, so Eloise doubled down on the wards and cloaking.

Once back on the move, they trekked northward, and Eloise's delight never dulled. Perhaps it was having two children instead of one. Maybe she was beginning to recognize more of her surroundings. Either way, seeing her happy put him at ease.

"You know, they're a month old now," she quipped as they stayed inside the tent for warmth one afternoon. Outside, November was practically gone, and the cold was too distracting to set up a welcoming outdoor space.

Fenrir gave her a "mmm" in response. He only half listened, as their girl drowsed in his arms. For such stupidly fragile creatures, they were mildly entertaining, and his daughter had taken to grabbing the claw on his right index finger. The more he tried to tug his finger away, the harder she held on. He snickered at the action.

Eloise eyed him. "Oh, Fenrir! Letting her play with your claw? Really?"

"She's been doing this for two weeks, woman. I blunted the tip against some stones outside. She'll be fine."

Eloise stared at him.

"I have no need or desire to hurt my own cub."

She released a breath. "It's still a sight, seeing you with babies."

"Let me guess—you're thinking of the rumors that I dined on their flesh?"

Eloise pointedly looked at the soft gray caps she was knitting magically for the twins while their son slept in her arms.

"I'm not a cannibal. Marring them is one thing. Eating is another. And I've never taken a bite out of someone who didn't deserve it."

She sighed her well-that-just-puts-me-at-ease-doesn't-it sigh and shook her head. "Good to know." She fussed more with the matching caps. "…we'll have to name them at some point, Fenrir," she muttered.

He huffed. He had no rebuttal.

"I've been thinking about things that come in pairs."

"Salt and pepper."

"We're not naming our children after food."

"Red and blue."

"No colors."

"Land and sea?"

"Dammit, Fenrir!" she barked when he snorted. "This is right at the top of the checklist, you infuriating man." Nice to see his eloquence had rubbed off on her.

"I don't mind." He didn't. Regardless of whether they had names, they were his. The same applied to Eloise, in his opinion. "You choose," he added as an afterthought.

It wasn't until dinnertime before Eloise started cooing to the infants, calling the boy "Deimos" and the girl "Phoebe."

He quirked an eyebrow and caught his mate's eye in the lamplight.

"Short for 'Phobos,'" Eloise explained.

"A myth."

"Terror and fear personified," she confirmed. "Because they won't be victims of circumstance in this world. They'll face it head on, like their father."

"…headstrong but good, like their mother," he added softly.

A smile bloomed on her lips, and her cheeks reddened. "They'll grow up, smart and strong. Safe."

Fenrir didn't correct that last bit.

"…babies need permanence," Eloise continued.

He knew that.

"We can't be completely quiet with the two of them. We can't move as freely on the run with them."

He knew that, as well. And he knew Eloise well enough that he kept his idea of leaving the babies in another's care to himself.

"I'd like to show them all the places we've been, someday," she said, as if she'd changed topics. "…show them what I did for work…show them my old cottage…" She daydreamed aloud.

All the while, Fenrir understood that the topic hadn't changed at all.

* * *

In the dark, covered in the cloak of night, they trekked a familiar path that, had Eloise not been so sleepy, she would've recognized instantly. The holidays were two weeks away, the full moon one week, and Fenrir knew he had to wrap up this business now or never.

When they were close enough, he signaled to her that it was all right to light her way, and she flicked her wand on—and gasped. "No!" she squealed. She grinned at him. "We're really here?"

Her elation didn't wane as she quickly undid the enchantments and her cottage solidified into view from nothing. The door unlatched with a click, creaking open softly and not waking the twins. She stepped over the threshold and twirled on the spot, holding her arms aloft and free as he carried the kids.

Eloise faced him. "We're done running? Really? Well and truly done?"

Fenrir gave her a dry look, which made her laugh, as he unbundled Deimos first and Phobos second, passing each to her.

She waited in the entryway for him to follow. "C'mon, then. I'll turn the living room into their nursery with a flick of my wrist, and then we can have a proper meal." She sneezed. "Er, after a spot of dusting, perhaps…"

But he remained rooted outside.

Eloise's face fell a fraction, but she clung to the delight of being home. "Fenrir. Inside. Now, please. The—the twins will catch their death with that chill."

He frowned. More than all the times before, he despised leaving her now. And, for perhaps the last time, his heart broke. "No, Eloise."

"Fenrir—" Tears welled up in her eyes, and she stepped towards him.

But he pressed a gentle hand against her chest, keeping her inside, safe and sound…_where she belonged_. He bent forward and kissed her forehead, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the fresh tear tracks flowing down her cheeks.

The words "I can't" floated into his mouth, but he choked them down. There was no "I" for Fenrir Greyback anymore. Only them.

"You and the twins are better off here for now. You'll be safe," he insisted. Absentmindedly, he dragged his left hand over the doorjamb, picking at the latch where he'd stuffed secret messages for her before. He wouldn't be leaving a message this time.

Eloise choked back a sob and shifted the infants in her arms, trying not to disturb them. "But where?" she asked, her brow furrowed, her mouth a crinkled shape on her face. Her expression was utterly broken. And if she'd meant to ask where he was going, she changed her mind. "Will you be back?" Her voice cracked, and Deimos stirred.

Fenrir Greyback was a monster and one full of pride and full of himself. But this challenge before him right now was certainly his toughest hurdle. "…I will," he replied.

Eloise's brown eyes widened, and she closed her mouth. She wasn't buying it one bit.

And, Fenrir thought as he pressed one last kiss to her forehead and touched either twin's head before he turned heel and pulled the door shut behind him, he wasn't surprised by her doubting his promise, either.

Because he couldn't be certain he truly meant it.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, ouch. D: I've known, since I last left off on this draft back in November 2011, that something like this would occur. But it was only recently, now in 2019, that this fic took proper shape—as did Elfen 4, "The Sound of Homecoming," a forthcoming fic which will conclude the "Stranger" series. -w- This is something of a pattern for Elfen, with him leaving, but this time he's leaving a LOT behind. I've had Deimos and Phobos in my back pocket for years, perhaps only mentioning them in passing once, in the unrelated oneshot, "Trimmings"? There are a lot of personality details built up in "Familiar Stranger" and "Distant Stranger" that I was so happy to write again and flesh out even more (I mean, he considers her to be his mate, in the animal pair-bond sense of the term, which I LOVE), and I'm looking forward to approaching them from a new perspective in Elfen 4. This was quite the rush for me, too, because I ended up churning this out in basically one weekend (not unusual for me, altho it's been a while), and tho I worried about retaining my grasp of their characters based on the first two stories, I'm delighted with how this turned out. So, while I'm leaving you on a bittersweet note here, just hold on to the hopes that both Eloise and Fenrir have rubbed off on one another, that you WILL see the Midgen twins again, and that Elfen 4 WILL conclude the "Stranger" series with a happy ending! c: In the meantime, I've tons of other fics and rarepairs for you to devour, and I'm always up for requests or just random dithering about Elfen and other ships, on FFN (mew-tsubaki) or AO3 (mew_tsubaki/Miraphina Atherton) or tumblr ([camelliacats](https://camelliacats.tumblr.com/))~
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please review!
> 
> -mew-tsubaki :]


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